


'Cause Everybody's After Love

by NiteFang



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteFang/pseuds/NiteFang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Unicorns are supposed to be sweet and nice and everything good in the world. So as president of the student body and leader of the unicorns, I have to make sure the school is running smoothly and that everyone's happy, and that includes you too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Much Longer Will It Take to Cure This?

“Hey, gnome, before you launch into another one of your angst-ridden numbers that makes me hover on the fence between hitting you hard enough to give you amnesia and swinging a music stand at the face of the giant pastry I wish you’d completely black out of your memory, we wanna talk to you.”

Rachel sighed and let her hands drop on the piano keys, throwing a symphony of discordant notes around the empty auditorium. She turned to face the Cheerio who was currently striding down one of the aisles, her pinky linked with her girlfriend’s.

She threw the two cheerleaders a convincing smile. “Santana, Brittany, how can I help you?”

“I’m sorry for saying I was more talented than you,” Brittany said suddenly, climbing up onto the stage and walking over to where Rachel was seated at the baby grand.

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uh, w-what brought this on, Brittany?”

“I didn’t like it when Kurt and San got bullied,” she answered diplomatically as Santana came to join her. “And unicorns are supposed to be sweet and nice and everything good in the world. So as president of the student body, I have to make sure the school is running smoothly and that everyone’s happy, and that includes you too.”

If she’d said this a few years ago, Rachel would’ve immediately grinned and accepted it. But having friends—especially the “friends” from glee club—had caused her to develop the strong mindset that one day they could be best friends and the next, they could be archenemies. She’d been conditioned into holding people at arm’s length, and she’d taken it with as much dignity as Rachel Berry could. Fame was sometimes a lonely road, and she had to face the fact that she may have to walk it alone.

She had Finn, of course, and she didn’t lie when she said she couldn’t survive without him and he was all she needed. But even she knew that there was a difference between surviving and living, and that there was more to life than simply needing things. She wanted friends, but she couldn’t help being herself—selfish, ambitious, and determined—and if that drove people away from her in spite of her constant attempts to help them better themselves as individual performers and as a team or kowtow to their ludicrous demands of Pomeranians, then it was a sacrifice that she was prepared to make.

So naturally, it was a mild shock that Brittany grinned hugely and skipped over to sit next to her on the piano bench, pressing close.

“Can you teach me how to play a song?”

How this girl could turn from a ditzy mean girl to a cheerfully oblivious puppy, Rachel would never be able to explain. And despite her paranoia that people were always going to leave her eventually, she seized the opportunity, smiled, made sure her walls were intact, and proceeded to teach Brittany the simplified version of “A Whole New World.”

She took note of the way Santana watched them from where she was perched on a stool next to the piano as Rachel plunked out the notes that Brittany copied on a higher octave. The Latina didn’t seem inclined to apologize herself, but neither did she seem to mind being there. Rachel supposed that Brittany acted as a buffer so Santana couldn’t rain down a barrage of snarky comments and offhand insults on top of whatever grossly offensive remarks she had stored up, but there was a tension in the air, an unasked question that seemed to hang above their heads.

As Brittany practiced a few bars of the song, Rachel looked up, met Santana’s calculating, narrow-eyed look, and asked, “What is it?”

“You’re gonna say yes, aren’t you?”

Brittany’s E faltered, and she started over.

Rachel swallowed, but Santana’s face was devoid of its usual disdainful expression and was replaced by that same calculating look that was seriously beginning to make the shorter brunette nervous.

“You are,” Santana answered her own question when Rachel didn’t. And once again, her tone wasn’t mean or antagonistic—it was...curious. “You’re gonna marry Finn.”

She was going to get lectured. She could feel it coming on. The two cheerleaders who used to contribute to the cesspool of DNA that made up her personal torturers was about to lecture her about—

“That's cool.”

Rachel nearly choked on her own saliva.

“W-What?!” she spluttered in disbelief. “You’re not going t-to give some convoluted argument riddled with profanities and backhanded insults and call it your good-intentioned attempt to keep me from throwing my future away?”

Santana cocked an eyebrow, and Brittany missed another note.

“Jesus, Rachel,” Santana chortled, shifting in the seat to lean her back and elbows on the piano. “You just acknowledged that marrying the early-rising star of Seaworld is like you throwing your life away. Good job.”

Rachel blushed—because of a combination of what she conceived as a mediocre jab at Finn’s sexual abilities and the misinterpretation of her words— and glared. “That’s not what I said!”

Santana rolled her eyes, but, once again, surprised Rachel by not disputing. “Chills, ewok.”

“How did Finn propose?” Brittany asked as she began to try and sound out the notes on the piano herself.

“It was...right here, actually,” Rachel admitted with a shy smile. “Where he first kissed me.”

“Oh, God, did he sing to you?” Santana sighed.

“No, he was very straightforward about it,” Rachel answered proudly. “He didn’t beat around the bush or—”

“Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” Santana stopped her with a hand. “Were there rose petals?”

“No.”

“ _Any_ kind of flowers?”

“Well, no.”

“Were the lights dim? Was there music playing? Did he feed you?”

“No, I don’t believe any of that is necessary, Santana. Finn—”

“ _Holy_ _sh_ —did he push you up against the goddamn wall with his hand up your—”

“OH, MY GOD!”

By this time, Santana had closed her eyes in disgust and was shaking her head in disappointment. “Don’t even give me that! Brit and I can give you a legit proposal right on this damn spot if you gave us five minutes—music, chocolates, dancing, lights, and orgasms!”

“It’s true,” Brittany agreed, nodding earnestly. “Even _Puck_ could come up with something better than that.”

“He did that goddamn Barbravention, for crying out loud,” Santana scoffed. “ _And_ he sang ‘Sweet Caroline’ to you.”

“I don’t understand how bringing Noah into the topic is necessary,” Rachel said.

“The resident self-proclaimed badass motherfucking _jackass_ can come up with a flash mob for an annoying chick who used to make him wanna light up his own ass just to convince her not to get a nose job while a man-orca hybrid who’s supposedly in love with you gives you such a shitty proposal,” Santana said flatly. “You need to up your standards. I’m sure even Jesse St. Asstard would think of something _remotely_ romantic.”

“He’d make a big production and lower a chandelier over your head with the ring dangling from the biggest ornament in the middle,” Brittany said.

“If Kurt was straight and in love with you, he’d take you to back to New York and manhandle the entire cast of _Wicked_ to help him propose in song.”

“Blaine would get all the Warblers to dance around with bouquets of flowers and rain down petals on your head when he gets down on one knee.”

“Mike would grab you into a romantic-ass waltz in the middle of a park while he’s wearing some old Fred-Astaire-ish outfit while making us sing some random Broadway love song.”

“Sam would take you on a plane ride to assimilate—“

“Simulate, Brit.”

“—that weird flying bird from _Avatar_ and then he’ll drag you up a tree and propose in Na’vi. And Artie would compile footage of you guys dancing and singing together into a movie and then show it to you with a scene of him proposing straight at you in the end.”

“Even Rory would attempt something lame and sappy and his proposal would be barely intelligible, but you’d still cry and shit,” Santana said. “They’d ask for help to make a gigantic production with a full orchestra and special effects and all that shit, because _everyone_ fucking knows that’s what you want. But what does Finn do? Fucking _nothing_.”

“What does it even _matter_?” Rachel demanded in frustration.

Santana shrugged. “Shows you love him that much.”

To say that floored Rachel was a gross understatement. “But you just went through—”

Santana shrugged. “Just pointing some shit out.”

Rachel frowned. “So...y-you support me?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but whatever. I guess watching a T-Rex eating a Jew would be preferable to being in the thick of it all, so whatever boils your lobster.”

“Do you mind if we have Puck though?” Brittany asked.

Rachel jerked back to stare at Brittany. “What?”

“Puck is super sweet, and I want San and me to be treated right, so I want him to be the third half of our relationship,” Brittany explained airily.

“But why _Noah_?” Rachel asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well, he’s done a lot for you, and I want a guy to do the same thing for me and San,” Brittany explained, testing out a very disjointed chord which Rachel had to quickly correct. “Like, he totally apologized for slushy-ing you and then he quit football for you, remember?”

“That was because he finally knew what it felt like to be slushied and he quit just to be closer to Quinn and his baby,” Rachel said smoothly.

“And then he sang ‘Run, Joey, Run’ with you and moved the Glist off your locker,” Brittany continued.

“He did _what_?” Rachel blurted out. “He moved the _Glist_?”

Brittany nodded. “Mhm, and then—”

“But _why_?” Rachel persisted.

“‘Cause he kinda likes you—remember? That’s what he said at sectionals last year,” Brittany said before continuing. “And then I want him to make flash mobs to make us feel better and come up with dates in New York and organize a street band with accordions and sing us Disney songs.”

Rachel blinked. “What? He...he gave Finn the idea to take me out when we were in New York?”

“Well, duh. In case you haven’t realized, Willow, tuba-stepper ain’t the most romantic and imaginative guy. So we wants the romantic, imaginative one.”

“So you have to re-squish your rights to him to us.”

“ _Relinquish_ , Brit-Brit,” Santana corrected her softly.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Brittany said just as softly and then turned back to Rachel. “You can have Finn. He’s not very nice to me and Blaine, and he can never remember important things, but I know he’s different with you.”

Rachel’s face was _stone_ as she stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “Well, I hope you two are happy with Noah. I’m sure he’ll treat you well. If you’ll excuse me, my class will begin in ten minutes and I have yet to gather my books. I’ll see you girls in glee later.”

She stood up from the bench and walked away, but Brittany called to her and she turned to see that Santana had taken her place on the bench.

“Rae?”

“Yes?”

“Can we be your bridesmaids?”

_Why in God’s name…_

_“Why?”_ Rachel breathed in confusion.

Brittany just blinked. “Because Kurt can’t pull off a strapless dress.”

Rachel slowly turned and walked away. There were no more words to be said to that girl.

As for what she said, though…

Noah was just keeping the promise he’d made to God to be nicer to Jews—that was all. That’s why he and Kurt teamed up for the Barbravention. That’s why he helped Finn with the date—because he wanted her to be treated correctly. Lord knows Finn would’ve attempted something romantic that would most likely result in something catching fire, something getting run over, or something breaking.

But the Glist. She’d dumped him, but he still did something nice to her—without even telling her. She was dating Finn, and he blatantly insulted her, laughing at the rude insults Santana and Brittany had thrown at her face and calling it “honesty,” completely losing the original meaning she’d intended with the him-finding-a-cheerleader-girlfriend fact. Not to mention the fact that he’d called her a sad, clown hooker. And that he checked under his bed for her because she was creepy.

But he was _Finn_ —he was a goof, and he surely wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But five year-olds could be mean too, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t love you any less. But then again, Finn wasn’t five years old…

And ‘Run, Joey, Run’—Noah just did it to show off his guns. His “badass” reputation wouldn’t be too tarnished if he’d appeared in some ludicrous video. It’s not like he was really sacrificing anything like how Finn would’ve if he’d taken the picture with her in the yearbook. But that was an _incredibly_ stupid video. She lauded Artie’s directorial skills, but in retrospect, Steven Spielberg and James Cameron could work together, and it _still_ wouldn’t have worked in the end.

It was a _really_ bad video.

Noah himself had said so when he saw his version of the song before Artie added in Jesse and Finn’s scenes. But he didn’t say a word about pulling out from the project. Jesse had tried to take over the entire production, and Finn just looked uncomfortable with the whole ordeal.

But the grape slushy. At the time, it just sounded frightening that he’d paid that much attention to her—to know her favorite flavor without having ever said a civilized word to her before. Finn had known her and loved her for over two years and he still fed her meat. And gave her a pig for Christmas—a pig to fatten up and eventually slaughter for a family. He didn’t even remember that she was a vegan…and Jewish. Noah remembered her favorite slushy flavor because he saw her licking her lips.

The more she thought about it, the more it said about the kind of person he was.

He was observant, he was sweet, he didn’t seek recognition for it, he didn’t care much about what others thought of him unless it was about his Mohawk—but everyone had their limits, of course. He dated her for a week—and he never cheated. He never went back to Santana, he never went to his cougars, he didn’t sneak off with some Cheerio. He was with her—stomaching her attempts to put some culture in his life. And he honestly wasn’t going to break up with her. Even _she_ had known that.

And he’d done all of that before his promise to be nicer to Jews.

And then she hit a wall of bricks.

Literally. Well, not an actual brick wall—she smacked into Finn.

“Rach! Hey,” he said, smiling down at her. “Have you thought about my question?”

She looked up at his face—goofy smirk and soft eyes in place. And then she remembered:

Noah apologized for throwing slushies at her. Even _Jesse_ apologized for egging her.

Finn threw eggs at her house and he never apologized. Burt Hummel had a heart attack, and he prayed to Jesus to let him touch her breasts. He’d admitted to _that_ , at least. He called his father—a soldier who’d fought for his friends, his family, his country—a loser because he had PTSD. He outright said that he didn’t have anything special in his life while sitting with his girlfriend and his stepbrother, while he had friends who’d stand by him through thick and thin, and a mother who supported him through their ordeal—through _heartbreak—by herself._ Noah’s father was an actual loser, Christopher Hudson was a broken hero. And his own son…

“I still need a few more days, Finn,” she muttered, lowering her gaze to her shoes and feeling the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger the longer she stayed with him. “It’s a big decision that no one can afford to take lightly. Please excuse me. I’m going to be late to class.”

“Rachel—”

But she’d walked off, disappearing through into the crowded hallway.

He’d never even sang for her. She’d sung him so many songs, cried in front of him so many times because of the emotion she put into the words she sang to him, and he’d never done the same. He sang “Just the Way You Are” for Kurt, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” for Santana. “Jesse’s Girl” could hardly count because for one thing, he was singing about stealing a girl away, and considering how much she’d liked Jesse at the time, she had been more than a little uncomfortable with him singing that in front of the rest of the club.

But Noah sang “Sweet Caroline.” She presented him with the fact that she couldn’t date a boy who couldn’t sing a solo, and he rose to the challenge and sang for—the first ever male solo in glee— _her_.

And even though he’d been singing a duet about desperately needing someone, he had this massive smile on his face as he looked _at her_. The whole time. She chastised him for it after Mr. Schue and Coach Beiste broke up the fight, but he’d just smirked, pointed out that she’d been smiling too, and walked away, completely unaffected.

Needless to say, she didn’t pay attention in whatever class it was that she was in.


	2. 'Cause I Can't Ignore It

“RACHEL BARBRA BERRY!”

Rachel flinched. Oh, she wasn’t going to hear the end of it this time.

“WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!”

Perhaps this wasn’t one of her best ideas, but then again, wallowing has never gone hand-in-hand with exercising, and even though she loved dancing, she couldn’t dance away her problems or clear her head that way. Yoga only freed her mind from worrying about school so she was forced to focus on the things she wanted to distract herself from. Singing only resulted in her singing songs that related all-too-well to her predicament.

So…she baked.

And baked.

And baked some more after that.

“Are you _trying_ to give us diabetes?!” Leroy Berry demanded, spinning around and around as he stared at the obscene amount of pastries that covered every flat surface of his kitchen. “I didn’t even know we had this many pans! Or ingredients! Rachel, what _is_ this?! What—”

And then his eyes finally landed on his daughter who was standing next to the oven, holding a batch of cupcakes fresh out of the oven with a broken expression that immediately brought back the violent tendencies he’d worked so hard to tamper down many years ago.

“What happened?! Who hurt you?! Did Jesse start throwing whole rotisserie chickens at you this time? If you tell me that he laid a finger on you, I’m gonna go all apeshit on that kid’s ass! Where the hell is my chainsaw?!”

“No, Dad!” Rachel shrieked, practically tossing the pan onto a free space on the counter and throwing her oven-mitted hands around her father’s broad torso in attempt to stop him from reaching for the knife stand.

“No, it’s not Jesse?! Because I’m more than happy to break someone else’s face! Is it that numbnuts with the mullet?! He’s a walking target for anyone who’s itching to chop things up!”

“No, it’s not Rick Nelson! Dad, _stop_!”

“ _Oh,_ _my_ —IS MERCEDES BITCHING OUT ON YOU AGAIN?!”

“NO, IT’S NOT MERCEDES! CALM DOWN!”

He suddenly gasped, and Rachel could swear his eyes dilated. “IS SHELBY BACK?!”

_“FINN PROPOSED!”_

He immediately froze in Rachel’s arms, and she knew it just went from _bad_ to _apocalyptic_. In a move that fully convinced her that Noah may have been right in thinking that her father was hiding a lot more than he let on, Leroy reached around and detached his daughter from his back, backed her into a corner, and yanked off the left oven mitt. When he didn’t see a ring, his eyes slowly rose to meet hers, and she knew that Burt and Carole would be getting a call in a few minutes.

“You didn’t say yes,” he growled menacingly.

Rachel swallowed. “I told him to give me a few more days.”

Leroy’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re not going to accept, right? Asking for a couple days to think it through is basically just a front for buying time to find the best way to let him down, _right_?”

“I—”

_“Right?”_

Staring into her father’s dark, _manic_ eyes, Rachel knew that no matter how many years if training she received, she would never be able to lie to this man. “I don’t know, Dad.”

Leroy sighed, but his shoulders remained tense. He pulled off the other oven mitt and took Rachel’s little hands in his own, lifting them up to kiss her knuckles.

“Princess,” he said warmly, “I love you. You know that, right?”

She nodded.

“And you know that I only want what’s best for you, right?”

She nodded again.

“And you know that I think Finn’s always been a...a good kid, right?”

She grimaced a little but nodded again.

“So if your answer starts leaning toward acceptance, I need you to know that I can’t give my approval.”

Rachel blinked, her heart racing as her eyes burned. The grip on her hands got tighter and Leroy held her gaze.

“I had hoped that this new chapter of your relationship with Finn was about maturity. This was the kid that left you in a goddamn Christmas tree lot, remember?”

Rachel blanched. “Who told?”

“You think you can call Aviva, ask her to pick you up, and expect that she wouldn’t tell us?” Leroy answered dryly. “I hoped that’s be able to figure his life out and use his brain once in a while, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. You’re truthful with me, and I’m thankful for that, but I know you glaze over a lot of things or you’re just completely oblivious to them. I can’t condone that. I can’t give you my approval to marry a guy who’s not good for you. Do you understand? No right-minded father could let his daughter get married in high school let alone marry an idiot. He fed you meat, and you spent half the night throwing up, remember? What the hell? If he can’t even remember you’re vegan after three years, I shudder to think of what happens to your baby.”

_“BABY?!”_

The man’s timing was incredible.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Leroy breathed as a crash sounded from the front door.

The rapid footsteps thundered into the kitchen until Hiram Berry flew into the kitchen, glasses askew, his entire head red with rage. “BABY?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT A BABY?! GOD KNOWS I WANT TO BE A GRANDFATHER BUT I’M TOO YOUNG FOR THAT! I HAD IT ALL MAPPED OUT! I STILL HAD A COUPLE MORE YEARS TO GET THINGS READY AND TO START BUILDING UP MY GRANDCHILDREN’S COLLEGE FUNDS! I FIT IT ALL ACCORDING TO _YOUR_ TIMELINE, AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT—”

“HIRAM!”

“Daddy, I’m not pregnant! Finn _proposed_!”

Hiram stopped, his chest heaving. “Oh.”

Leroy glared. “As if that’s any better!”

Hiram just shrugged and picked a cookie off the nearest baking sheet. “Well, she won’t say yes.”

“How do you know?!” Leroy demanded at the same time Rachel burst out with, _“What?!”_

“It doesn’t fit into her life plan at this stage. According to stage four, that particular window of opportunity won’t open for another four years,” Hiram replied confidently, previous rage forgotten. “And besides, I knew your Dad would never let it happen.”

“Damn straight,” Leroy grumbled.

Rachel bit her lip. “What if I accepted under the condition that—”

“No,” Leroy said adamantly. “I’m not hearing the word ‘yes’ come out of your mouth for another five years.”

“ _Four_ ,” Hiram corrected him through a mouthful of cookie.

“She wouldn’t even be able to drink at her own wedding!” Leroy protested. “I say _five_.”

Hiram nodded understandingly. “Makes sense.”

Leroy turned back to Rachel and sighed. “Sweetheart, look, we love you and we’re happy that you’re in love, but you’re seventeen and your Daddy and I were not raised as the types of people who think it’s absolutely adorable and romantic for two teenagers to get married straight out of high school. It was okay in _A Walk to Remember_ because Mandy Moore was dying and it effectively reduced you and Daddy into little puddles of tears in the living room, but you do not have leukemia—thank God—and Finn is an idiot and wouldn’t able to assemble a telescope without breaking something. Can you see why we can’t exactly encourage you to follow your heart?”

Rachel frowned. “My _heart_?”

Hiram stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “There are times you follow your heart, my little diva, and times that your heart must adhere to your head. You’re in high school. And after hearing about the recent revelation that Finn’s father OD’d because of his post-traumatic stress disorder from Mrs. Levi, I’d say that Finn didn’t completely think his proposal through. We’re just asking you to be the brains of this relationship right now.”

Leroy suddenly tugged Hiram away and tilted Rachel’s face up, eyes narrowed. “You’re _not_...are you? You’re not going to accept.”

Yes. Her father had to have been a spy. Or he was related to the real-life Leroy Jethro Gibbs. NO. Maybe he was the inspiration!

“Dad? Daddy?”

Leroy glanced at Hiram worriedly before turning back to Rachel. “What is it?”

“Did you know that my favorite slushy flavor was grape?”

**~oOo~**

“Good morning!”

Puck jumped, nearly dropping his gigantic-ass Anatomy book on his foot. He turned to see a cute little midget with a voice as loud as Chewbacca’s. And—HOLY SHIT!

“Whoa,” he muttered, eyes widening as he took in her appearance.

“What?” Rachel asked, her gigantic smile disappearing as she patted her clothes and hair self-consciously. “What is it?”

Puck was staring fixedly on the black skirt he hadn’t seen in _years_. “What up with the wardrobe change, Berry?”

She tried to hide a smile by ducking her head, but she wasn’t that short and he could still see it. “It was warm today, and I thought it’d be a nice change—a, uh, _throwback_ for nostalgia’s sake.”

And then he noticed the white shirt and the pink cardigan. And then he smirked. “Nostalgia?”

“Yes, Noah. It’s a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations,” Rachel answered matter-of-factly.

Pick slowly raised an eyebrow and smiled a little wider. “I know what that means, midget, but I don’t know why you’d be nostalgic about _that_.”

Rachel blinked and felt her heart rate kick up. _He remembered._

She expertly hid the deep breath she took before answering, “I liked the outfit. You said it was the closest to normal I ever dressed.”

He snorted and shut his locker. “So what do you want this time?”

“W-What?”

“Last time you came up to me, you had me sing ‘Need You Now’ to make Hudson jealous,” Puck pointed out, brushing past her on his way to class. “As fun as that was, you’re engaged, and I’m done screwing with St. Hudson’s life.”

“I’m not engaged!” she hissed, trailing after him.

“Hudson proposed. It’s pretty much established that you’d say ‘yes,’” he said over his shoulder.

She pursed her lips and quickened her pace until she was right beside him. “For your information, I haven’t given him an answer.”

Puck raised his eyebrow again. “Yeah, you’re totally getting hitched.”

She rolled her eyes and suppressed a growl of frustration. “Noah, I am not getting married; I am getting irritated.”

“I told you before, and I’m gonna say it again—I don’t know what kind of kinky games you and Hudson play, Berry. I’m not helping you make him—”

“Finn would have no reason to be jealous because I’m not going to perform in front of him,” she said calmly. “I just need help.”

Puck’s expression suddenly shifted into a dark glare as he stopped and faced her. “Did Jewfro steal your panties again?”

She wouldn’t think about it. She would remember the yogic discipline of _ahimsa_ , of _nonviolence_. She would not think about how his protectiveness and how much she..liked it.

“No, I need help with music,” she said instead.

His eyes widened and he leaned back in surprise. “You shittin’ me, right?”

She gaped at his abhorrent abuse of the English language. “I can assure you that I am not _kidding_ you!”

“What could you possibly need my help with? You’re the damned Broadway prodigy or something.”

“Yes, but I need help with my lower registers. I’m very good with big numbers and power ballads and such, but it’s the understated songs that I have to learn to master as well. Take, for instance, Holly Holiday’s rendition of ‘Landslide.’ It was soft and mournful, without much high notes. I would go to Santana or maybe even Mercedes for help, but I doubt the club could handled two extra swelled egos.”

“So you come to me? I don’t know how to help you.”

“Well, your very first solo was on a lower register than what you sing now,” she pointed out. “And your crudeness and vulgarities are effective tools to keeping me from getting out of hand—”

“So, what? You want me yell cuss words at you when you start wailing those high notes?” He looked torn between horrified and highly amused. __

This was such a badly-thought-out plan. Most _definitely_ not one of her better ideas.

“I-I-If you deem it necessary,” she stammered. “Bringing songs to an entirely new level is involuntary to me now—hence my rendition of David Guetta and Usher’s ‘Without You.’”

“Which kicked ass,” he offered casually.

She blushed and smiled a little. “Well, thank you, Noah. I’m glad you liked it. But I still need your help.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Are you on crack or something?”

She glared up at him and stifled the urge to stomp her foot. “I’m asking you for help! If—”

“Calm your nipples, Berry.”

Her jaw dropped lower than she ever thought it could. “Excuse me—”

He smirked. “Oh, yeah, sure, you’re excused.”

“Stop interrup—”

He winked. “Just testing shit out. Chill. Don’t you have class?”

She shook her head. “I have a free period.”

He nodded contemplatively before gesturing her to follow him. “Come on then. Let’s start trying to take the drama out of the diva.”

“You don’t have a class?” she asked, almost jogging to keep up with him.

He scoffed. “Been going to all my classes since the year started. I can afford to skip one. Besides, it’s Schue. And after making me practice that goddamn synchronized swimming shit, I need a break from his face.”

He shouldered open the door to the choir room, and she took note of how he held it open and let her go in first. She looked around, and for the first time, she was just slightly uncomfortable.

He dropped his bag next to the leg of the piano and picked up the acoustic guitar on the nearby stand.

“You gonna sit down or what?” he asked suspiciously, taking a seat on one of the stools and tuning the guitar.

She licked her lips and opted for the piano stool in front of him. “What are we going to sing?”

But it seemed that he was operating on a different wavelength because instead of answering her, he said, “I’m not gonna cuss at you.”

“That doesn’t sound like any song I know.”

“No shit,” he remarked blandly. “Instead of me yelling at you like some psycho abuser and end up getting suspended, expelled, or fucking arrested again, for every high note you try and make, you’re gonna have to sing a Weird Al song.”

She shook her head, not quite believing her ears. “A _Weird_ _Al_ _Yankovic_ song? Are you _serious_?”

“As serious as AIDS, baby,” he answered with an evil grin. “And you’re gonna have to do it in front of the gleeks.”

“But that’s _stupid_!”

“Well, you better not hit any high notes then. If you can catch yourself in time and fuck up the note on purpose, then you’re fine, but of you hit it, you’re gonna be singing a parody.”

She pulled out her show smile and kept her eye from twitching too much. “Deal.”

He grimaced at her expression and then waved his hand over her face. “Quit that. You look fucking crazy, and if you’re gonna be singing a soft ballad, you better not look like you’re trying to sing ‘Before the Parade Passes By’ or something.”

And then her show smile brightened into a real one. “You’ve seen _Hello! Dolly_?”

“Ma and Bekah were watching it last night,” he grumbled sourly. “And Streisand was kind of a babe back then—except for the creepy long nails and shit.”

She sighed and leaned an elbow against the fallboard of the piano. “Oh, Noah. Can’t you just say you liked it like a normal person?”

He strummed a perfectly-tuned chord. “Can’t you sing a song without crying?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he smirked. “That’s not the same thing.”

“We all do things and appreciate shit in our own way, Berry. Don’t hate,” he said. “Now shut up and sing.”

He plucked out a soft melody that she immediately recognized and made her heart begin to race again. Outwardly, she glared at the low key he’d taken, but her fingers trembled as she waited for her cue, and when he jerked an eyebrow, she started to sing so softly that it was almost just a whisper above the gentle chords of the guitar.

_“Love me tender, love me sweet. Never let me go. You have made my life complete, and I love you so.”_

Of course she knew how to tone down her voice; she’d babysat before. She was an _expert_ at lullabies. She wasn’t lying when she said she needed to work on her lower registers, but it wasn’t an issue that would necessitate the help of anyone else. But there was something she needed to see for herself—a look, a smile, anything.

_“Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darling, I love you, and I always will.”_

He lifted his eyes from his guitar to smile at her the same way he did in “Need You Now” and then began to harmonize with her, tilting his head the same way he’d done before too.

And there it was, the things she hadn’t noticed before but what she was looking for now: the softness in his eyes, the easy smile, the way he sat up just a little straighter, and the deep smoothness of his voice that melded so beautifully with hers.

And then she smiled because she’d suddenly developed a craving for a grape slushy.

**~oOo~**

It wasn’t as if she’d been living in a vague stupor, and all of a sudden she’d woken up to see the fogs had lifted to let the sunlight through. The analogy she’d decided on during the car ride to school was that she’d stepped out of the artificial light and into a thunderstorm that she’d have to survive through to get to the sunlight. She wasn’t _in_ _love_ with Noah—most definitely not—and in spite of her experiment with him in the choir room the day before, she couldn’t say with a legitimate amount of certainty that he actually _liked_ her in that way. The most it said was that he was protective and more than a little partial to her—his alleged “hot little Jewish-American princess”—not that he had any feelings for her. It was an assumption she couldn’t risk making.

But she, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. There was still that undeniable, uncontrollable, unbelievable gravitational pull that he had on her—may it be because of his bad boy image, the fact that he’d been the first boy on her bed, or that they were indeed two hot Jews and it was natural. Either way, she was developing feelings for him—real feelings that weren’t based on some fairytale fantasy she’d cooked up. They were founded on real, solid evidence, and that scared her.

Because here she was, a proposal hanging over her head, while she contemplated her growing affections for someone else.

How did her life go from simple to complicated?

Well...probably the same way Finn went from a hero to a louse and Noah from a sharp pebble to a diamond in the rough.

So she did what any normal, insecure seventeen year-old girl would do in that situation. She avoided them like they both had leprosy.

Well, she could avoid Noah with ease considering they hardly ever spoke anyway, and her asking for his help hadn’t really changed that. But Finn was a problem. The ring was probably burning a hole in his pocket, and she surmised that his need to validate his own life by cementing her place in it was making him just a tad bit desperate.

On top of worrying about the sudden love triangle that she’d managed to find herself in again, Rachel already had regionals and her NYADA application to worry about, so the day Finn finally cornered her in the hallway, she was almost on the very edge of cracking. And unfortunately, his presence and the sudden emergence of Noah from a nearby classroom did nothing to alleviate her worries.

Her ears heard, “So it’s been five days, Rach, and this ring is still waiting for its home.” But all she could see were the hazel eyes that found and winked at her from down the hallway.

Then she turned tail and _ran_.

And unfortunately, Finn had followed her gaze, spotted Puck, and immediately put two and five together to come up with eight-hundred and ninety-six.

**~oOo~**

Puck was just standing at his locker, you know—wondering if he had to read for history and answer questions for anatomy or read for anatomy and answer questions for history and when the fuck he started worrying about _homework_ in general.

He decided on just texting either Mike or Sam instead of straining his brain when he slammed his locker door shut and almost had a heart attack when he saw that Finn had been standing behind it.

“Jesus Christ! The hell are you doing hiding like that for, you fucking creeper?” Puck grumbled, clutching his chest and turning to walk away.

Him and his little girlfriend—creepers, the both of them. If this whole sneak-up-on-Puck shit was gonna be a normal thing, he was gonna start taking swings. And on the same vein, Puck figured that the ogre needed a favor too. Probably recruit the guys to sing a song to speed up Rachel’s ‘yes.’

“What did you do to Rachel?” was what he heard instead.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This was why he didn’t wanna help her. This right here—this _dumbfuckery_ that was gonna end up with a nuclear explosion of gleek drama that he’d been trying (and failing, obviously) to avoid all fucking year.

“I put her under anesthesia, switched her brain with T-Pain’s, and then set her loose on Lima,” Puck answered blandly, turned, and walked away.

“Puckerman, I’m serious,” Finn growled, striding up beside him.

Puck had to consciously keep himself from rolling his eyes. Oh, yeah. As if using his full last name was totally supposed to make him stop and be like, “Oh, Finn. You’ll be fine, buddy. Rachel loves you and will always be there to cushion every blow. Of course she’ll say ‘yes,’ and y’all be living happily ever after.” Damn _baby_.

“I’m serious too, dude,” Puck said earnestly, glancing at Finn out of the corner of his eyes. “If you watch her closely enough, you can see her lips moving really fast. It’s ‘cause she’s rapping under her breath.”

Finn’s hand suddenly dropped heavily on Puck’s shoulder, yanking him to a stop and spinning him around. Puck had gotten his temper and use of involuntary violence under control since he started glee and stuff, but who the fuck likes being manhandled like that? He seriously almost punched the guy in the face.

“Look, it’s been five days since I proposed to Rachel, and she still hasn’t given me an answer, and when she saw you in the hallway earlier, she totally bolted. You did something to her,” Finn said in an attempt to sound quietly menacing.

Fail.

Puck frowned in disbelief. “I haven’t done _shit_ to her, dude. Last time we talked, she asked for help with her lower registers or shit like that, and—”

“WHAT?!” Finn screeched, and Puck couldn’t hold back the eye roll any longer.

“Singing, dude! She’s a fucking soprano, but she wants to work on her lower octaves! God!”

“Why did she ask _you_ for help?” Finn demanded. “I could’ve helped her better.”

Puck cocked an eyebrow. No offense to drummers and shit ‘cause those guys are fucking essential to holding the song together, but they can’t exactly help with singing. Puck, on the other hand, was a guitarist, a bassist, a pianist, a drummer, _and_ a singer. Yeah, Rachel coming to him instead of someone else made a lot more sense now, but it’s not like he was gonna say it to Finn. Fucker might start crying or something.

“I have a deeper voice than you,” Puck said instead, hoping it was enough of an explanation.

The guy legit _pouted_. Puck seriously began to contemplate buying him a diaper and a binky for his birthday.

“So why did she run off when she saw you?” Finn asked.

Puck shrugged. “She had to...pull away before my magnetism sucked her away from you?”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some sort of reverse psychology where you tell me what you’re actually doing so that I’ll think you’re not actually doing it or something?”

Puck just blinked. “No, dude. It’s a little something called _sarcasm_. Look, I don’t know why you think I did something to her.”

“Did you insult her or something? Did you criticize her singing? ‘Cause you know she can be kind of sensitive about that, but if it’s just something she blew out of proportion, then I can talk to her or something.”

For some reason, that last sentence just didn’t sit right with Puck. Don’t ask him why; it just sounded weird. “No, she was fine. I didn’t have to correct her or anything, and she sounded good. She thanked me and then left. I didn’t even flirt with her or anything.”

Puck could tell that Finn was still kind of stung that she didn’t go to her own boyfriend for help, but the dude needed to just get over himself.

“You don’t have to flirt. All you have to do is blink and they’ll come running,” Finn said, suddenly bitter.

“Uh, thanks?” Puck said uncertainly. What exactly do you say to that?

“And it’s not like I don’t have a reason to think—”

And now his switch was flipped.

“To think _what_ , Finn?” Puck growled, stopping in his tracks to glare at the man-child. “You’re taking shit to areas we agreed not to take shit anymore.”

Finn stupidly met his glare straight-on. “You trespassed first.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Hudson,” Puck said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm as his temper rose. “I don’t even _want_ your girl, okay? If there’s anyone to point fingers at because of past indiscretions, it’s _you_.”

Finn took a step forward, but even though he was taller, Puck was the one with all the muscles. Too bad Finn was a bit too full of himself to store that little tidbit of information in his already-over-capacity skull. He couldn’t store that and the fact that Rachel was a fucking Jewish vegan on top of all his delusions of grandeur.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Finn hissed.

“It means that I’m a manwhore, but when I date chicks, I’m a one-woman guy—with Lauren and with _Rachel_. _You_ cheated on Quinn— _twice_ , according to what you told me—and decided to take a leaf outta my book and convinced her to cheat on Sam with you too. Good job, asshat.”

In retrospect, provoking the bumbling ogre with the low maximum brain capacity was definitely a bad idea. But then again, the ogre provoked the juvenile delinquent with a lot of bottled-up misplaced aggression and a penchant for setting things on fire, which was right on par with what stupid-enough ogres would do.

Either way, Puck and Finn’s permanent records were thankful that Mike, Sam, Blaine, Kurt, and Rory converged before either of them landed any blows.

Mike, the unsung hero, leaped in between the two boys in such a ninja-like move that cemented his belief that he was a karate master in a past life, grabbing Finn’s fist and using the taller boy’s momentum to spin him around and yank him away from Puck. Sam and Blaine both had to jump on Puck and pin him against the wall as Rory and Mike mirrored their actions and shoved Finn up against the opposite wall. Kurt stood in the middle of the hallway, both hands outstretched as a last-resort barrier between the two.

“SAY THAT AGAIN, ASSHOLE!” Finn roared, struggling against Mike and Rory.

“YOU ARE A CHEATER!” Puck bellowed right back, practically lifting Sam and Blaine and surging forward, almost making it to Kurt in the middle before Sam and Blaine planted their feet and hauled him back. _“SATISFIED?!”_

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU! What the _hell_?!” Kurt screeched, glaring back and forth between Puck and Finn. “I thought you two had put your tumultuous pasts behind!”

“Finnessa’s decided to come out of hibernation to bring it all back!” Puck growled.

“ _You’re_ the one who went back to his old, cheating ways, manwhore!”

“Says the idiot who thought he knocked up his girlfriend via hot tub! You don’t know _shit_!”

“What?! Cheating?! Who is cheating?!” Mike demanded.

“Puck! He’s trying to steal Rachel away from me again!”

“Holy fuck! I don’t want her, you dumbass! I don’t want her and therefore would not try to steal her away from you! I don’t understand how you can have so many fucking insecurities _and_ still think that the sun shines out your ass!”

“Then why did she run?!” Finn cried.

“Here’s a thought, numbskull: ASK HER! Don’t accuse me of shit when I don’t even know what the fuck is going on!” Puck barked, finally throwing off Sam and Blaine and turning to leave.


	3. These Lines of Lightning

“Hey, asshole.”

Puck seriously wondered if rebuking her in the name of the Lord would work.

“Don’t you have a lake of fire to tend to, Satan?” Puck growled, brushing past her and heading into the seven-eleven.

“As a matter of fact, I’m here to drag your ass down there with me,” she shot back, trailing after him down the aisle. “Porcelain spilled about Finnderella’s delusional meltdown in the hallway yesterday.”

“That wasn’t a breakdown,” Puck said. “That was Finn being Finn.”

“No, that was a sorry excuse of a human acting like a lobotomized troll,” she corrected him. “Anyway, it got me thinking.”

Puck’s mouth dropped and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, you can do that?”

It was a testament to his superior sex skills that the four scratch marks that appeared on his arm didn’t even warrant a hiss of pain. He was so used to that shit by now.

“Why _did_ the hobbit run away from you?” Santana continued flexing her red-polished claws. “I mean, yeah, the decomposing chinchilla that died in the middle of crawling out of your skull would give anyone nightmares, but we’ve all gotten used to it, so it’s gotta be something else.”

Puck threw his hands up in exasperation. “How ‘bout you ask the girl who did the running? Damn, how did y’all not have to repeat junior year?”

“She’s not talking to any of us, whore,” Santana said drolly. “That’s why I’m asking _you_.”

Puck just rolled his eyes. This town was jam-packed with morons. “Why the hell are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“Because I want in on anything that can rescue the Jew from the T-Rex and then ultimately de-flesh that monster and put his bones on display.”

“Jesus Christ, San, you’ve been hanging out with Sylvester for too long.”

“I’m tired of being subjected to the torture that is the Finchel show every week, and as soon as Berry says ‘yes,’ it’s gonna be a never-ending shitfest. So just answer the question,” she persisted, ignoring his comment. “What happened with you two?”

Puck sighed and shrugged. “I have no fucking idea, okay? She came up to me in her little _throwback_ outfit—”

“ _What_? The hell is a _throwback_ _outfit_?”

Puck faltered. Okay, so what if he remembered what she was wearing the day he first caught a slushy in the face—the day he gave up football for her? He also remembered what his asshat of a father wore when that motherfucker left and exactly what song his ma was singing along to when Bekah first fell down the stairs. Remembering Berry’s pink cardigan, white shirt, and black skirt wasn’t anything new.

“It was an outfit she wore when we ditched football for glee,” he said simply.

She actually gawked at him—full, open-mouthed _wtf_ expression. “You remember that shit? Jesus Christ! I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning.”

Puck snorted. “If you’ve got that kind of shitty memory, then you’re the last person to judge me about what the fuck I remember, Satan.”

“Get on with the rest of it, Fuckerman. Why’d she come up to you?”

“She asked for help with singing on a lower key,” Puck replied, only hearing the stupidity of that at the very last second.

“She—asked—for—help—with— _singing_?” Santana echoed through her teeth, eyes closed in disbelief.

Oh, Jesus.

“Uh, yeah,” Puck said flatly. “I mean, I don’t know why ‘cause she kicked that song’s ass—”

“What song was it?” she asked suspiciously.

He frowned at her warily. “A song I got stuck in my head. I think I heard someone humming it or whistling it the other day.”

Her eyes narrowed threateningly. “What song?”

“The fuck do you care?”

“WHAT SONG?!”

“‘Love Me Tender!’ Christ! I swear to God, Santana, someone is gonna punch you in the face, and I will fucking _laugh_ ,” Puck barked in frustration.

She waved her hand dismissively. “And then what? You said something douchebaggish and she ran off?”

Puck glared at her. “ _No_. We finished the song, she thanked me, complimented my badass guitar skills, and walked out. I honestly do not have a fucking clue why she ran away from Finn. Now can you just go fuck off? You’re beginning to piss the shit outta me.”

“Well, she wouldn’t just run off for no damn reason, and considering this new contribution of random-as-fuck information, I’d say you’ve got the best guess as to why.”

“What—”

“ _Guess_ , Fuckerman. Why the fuck would Berry come up to you in that outfit, ask for your help in _singing_ , and then avoid you like the plague the next day?”

Oh, he knew. Fuck y’all—he wasn’t stupid. He just wasn’t gonna say it out loud ‘cause that would mean shit just got real and that he’d have to deal with fucking Hudson again. He was gonna take her running away as a gift from the good Lord that he could use as an escape from the inevitable shitstorm that would be the demise of Finchel.

He didn’t want her, and she was gonna deny that she wanted him. The world would be a happier place and his face would remain intact.

“I know you know, Puck,” Santana suddenly said evilly.

Puck glowered at her. “Then why the hell are you harassing me?!”

“Because there is only one person in the world who could break up that revolting mess of a relationship,” she said. “This is your fucking destiny.”

“To be the fucking shit disturber of Lima?! I ain’t breaking up _shit_ — _you_ go do it!”

“You broke them up last time, you can do it again!”

“The hell?! No!”

“Is this out of some jacked-up loyalty you have to Frankenteen?!”

Puck turned to face her full-on with a glare that made her actually take a half-step back. “Hudson can go fuck his own insecure ass and bask in the sunlight that shoots out of it. I don’t owe him anything anymore. He and I are done.”

“Then why won’t you do it?!”

“Because for one thing, Berry’s pretty cool. God knows she can talk until my brain melts and pours out my ears, but she’s fine. I ain’t gonna mess with her feelings like that. And another thing is that I don’t want any part of y’all’s stupid-ass drama. If you so _desperately_ wanna break them up, go recruit St. Dipshit and Fabray.”

“You are gonna look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want her?” Santana hissed.

He leaned in so close that their noses were two inches apart.

“I don’t.”

“Then you know she’s gonna end up being stuck here, right?” she said quietly. “Hudson is a selfish bastard, and she’ll follow him to Jupiter because she thinks that he’s her reason for life. You heard that dumbass song she sang. You wanna know what Kurt told me—what must’ve inspired her to sing to that asshole? That son of a bitch sat in Breadstix and complained about how he had nothing _special_ in his life with the two of them sitting _right_ _there_. If you like Rachel even just a little bit, you’d wanna save her from that life-sucking abomination of a organic creature.”

“If you care about her so much, why are you trying to convince me do it for you?” Puck asked just as quietly.

“Because you’re the only one she’ll listen to.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she dressed up—for you. She asked for vocal lessons—from you. She got scared half to shit and _ran_ _away_ —because of _you_. Consider this Rachel Berry’s cry for help.”

“No.”

“The _fuck_ , Puckerman?!”

“Berry is a big girl. She needs to do shit by herself so that she knows she can stand on her own damn two feet. She doesn’t need anyone else to fight her own battles. Now if you’ll fucking excuse yourself, I’m thirsty and I want my fucking slushy.”

She glared at the back of his head as he grabbed a slushy cup and started to fill it up. “So you’re just gonna walk away and let everyone deal with their own problems?!”

“She ain’t gonna learn it any other way,” Puck said simply.

“So what if she makes the wrong decision? What if she ends up staying in Lima? What if she never sets foot on a stage outside of Ohio? And you knew that you could’ve helped her but you didn’t.”

He paused the lever to glare at her. “Do not pin someone else’s problems on me. I have been blamed for a shitload of things that I didn’t even do, and I’m fucking sick of it, you understand me? I’ll admit that I’ve pulled my share of dumbfuckery, but don’t ever fucking accuse me with _what-if_ ’s and _could-have_ ’s.”

He filled up the rest of the cup, chucked a five at Trey the Stoner Clerk, and turned to Santana one more time. “She’s gotta learn when to stand on her own two feet and figure out what the hell is good for her and what isn’t. You especially should know that not everyone needs a goddamn knight in shining armor.”

As soon as he disappeared out the door, Santana’s phone was out and Brittany’s number had been dialed. Even though she was an über-bitch sometimes, Siri was the shit.

“Phase two complete,” she announced, walking out to her car. “Rachel’s done—hook, line, sinker—and Puck is right where he’s supposed to be.”

“What did he say?” Brittany asked excitedly.

“That he won’t be her knight in shining armor,” Santana said smugly. “You were right; he totally believes in her.”

Santana heard Brittany clap happily from the other end of the line as she started up the car.

“They’re right where we want them,” Brittany said gleefully. “Are you getting the marshmallows for phase three now? ‘Cause I think we’re gonna need more Hershey Kisses than we thought.”

**~oOo~**

“I _know_ , Daddy,” Rachel sighed wearily.

“And what if he forgets about locking up the dog? It might eat the baby!” Leroy persisted, turning down Presidio Boulevard.

“Dad, why do you keep dragging this back to babies?! I’m not even planning on getting pregnant!”

“You weren’t planning on losing your virginity ‘til you were married or twenty-five either!”

At that, Rachel blushed, and Leroy sighed in defeat. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

“I know, Dad,” she murmured.

Leroy sighed again and reached over the console to envelop one of Rachel’s hands in his own.

He loved his daughter and would live and die for her, but this was the exact reason why he originally wanted a boy. He knew he’d eventually have to deal with her period, her virginity, _boys_. Good God.

“I know you just want to protect me, but you have to trust—OH, MY GOD!”

“HOLY FUCK!”

The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road, and both of the Berries hurtled out of the car at top speed. Working on an unspoken command, Rachel launched herself at Puck and Leroy dragged Elijah Puckerman away from his son.

“Noah, calm down!” Rachel shrieked, grabbing his shirt and trying to haul him away from his father. “Stop!”

“You better learn your place, boy!” Eli screamed as Leroy hauled Eli back toward the street.

“You better learn yours, asshole!” Puck roared, surging forward and almost dragging Rachel after him, but she planted her feet and pushed against his chest as hard as she could just to keep him from stepping forward again. “You have no fucking right to be here!”

“This is _my property_!” Eli shot back.

“You gave up that fucking right _years_ ago!” Puck cried. “You gave up the right to the house, the property, the fucking _family_ the moment you _abandoned_ us!”

“Noah, please!” Rachel screeched as he nearly lifted her off her feet.

“You’re still carrying my name!”

“It’s not your name anymore, fucktard! You’re not _worthy_ of having Nana Connie’s name! Fuck you! Just fuck you!”

“I am still your _father_ , Noah!”

“BULLSHIT!” Puck thundered, forcing Rachel to actually _climb_ up him, wrap her arms around his chest, her legs around his hips, and bury her face in the crook of his shoulder. She could feel every yell reverberate through his body and felt the tears and the sticky blood against her shirt and skin. “BULL-FUCKING-SHIT! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM US! YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY UNLESS YOU FUCKING WANT ME TO RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT! YOU ARE _DEAD_ TO ME! YOU ARE _DEAD_! AS FAR AS I KNOW, MY FATHER FUCKING _DIED_ WHEN I WAS BORN! FUCK YOU! _FUCK YOU!_ ”

“Stay _back_ , Elijah!” Leroy barked, shoving Eli back again. “You’re better off just leaving now, man. Go.”

As Leroy tried to talk to the father, Rachel pulled back from the son’s shoulder and held his face between her hands as he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

“Calm down, Noah, please,” she murmured, gently brushing the blood of his lip and using her sleeve to wipe away the angry tears that still kept falling.

“Get off me, Rachel, please,” he gritted out.

“You’re not going to attack your father?” she asked quietly, still trying to clean his face as best she could.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to…go take a walk.”

She nodded and detached herself from around him, and he gently set her back down on the ground before turning and walking down the street. She watched his back fade into the distance, vaguely listening to her father trying to calm Eli down. Puck didn’t look back, and he didn’t unclench his fists even as he disappeared around the corner.

And then she remembered.

She peeled off the bloodstained oversized shirt—they didn’t need to see it—and dashed into the house in just her tank top to find Aviva sitting on the floor of the kitchen, clutching Bekah against her chest and sobbing quietly.

“Rachel!” Aviva gasped in relief, releasing Bekah from her mother’s stranglehold. “Rachel, where’s Noah?!”

“He took a walk,” Rachel said calmly, grabbing a dry dishtowel and wiping Aviva’s face and then Bekah’s. “He’ll be fine. Daddy has everything under control.”

“I-Is he hurt? Is he okay?” Aviva asked, swallowing her sobs.

“Eli?” Rachel asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Holy shit, no,” Aviva hissed. “Noah! Is my son all right? Did he hurt Noah?”

“Is Noah okay?” Bekah echoed in a small voice, latching onto Rachel’s side that reminded Rachel of the five year-old instead of the twelve year-old she really was.

“He’s fine,” Rachel said. “He’s a little beat up, but he’s definitely gotten worse from his fights at school.”

Aviva let out a strangled whine and dropped her face into her hands again. “H-He just showed up out of nowhere. I hadn’t even said anything, and Noah was already out of the couch and shoving Eli back and off the porch.”

“Aviva—Aviva, look at me,” Rachel commanded softly, cupping the older woman’s face in her hands the same way she’d done to her son. “Did he hit you? Did Eli hit you?”

Aviva shook her head, and Rachel felt Bekah grip her tighter. “No. Noah hauled him out onto the lawn before he could even say another sentence to me.”

Rachel nodded and helped Aviva to her feet, pulling Bekah up with her too. “Go into the living room. I’ll call Daddy and then I’ll bring you some water or tea. Would you like tea?”

“No, honey, no. I’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Bekah. You go. Go find Noah before he decides to take his anger out on something else,” Aviva urged, straightening up to her full height and wiping her face. “If you leave him alone with his thoughts for too long, he’ll start _dwelling._ Please go and find him.”

Rachel glanced back and forth between Bekah and Aviva before nodding obediently. She kissed Bekah’s forehead and then Aviva’s cheek before walking out of the house. She almost ran into Leroy on her way out, and he reached out to hold her before she toppled back. She gasped when she saw that his nose was bloody and his lip was busted.

“Where’s Eli?” she asked worriedly, peering around her father to see if the other man was still on the street.

“He’s gone,” Leroy said darkly, wiping the blood off on the back of his hand. “He threw me off and made a run for it.”

“I need to go find Noah,” she said frantically, different scenarios flaring in her mind of Noah encountering his father and having an all-out brawl in the middle of the street. “Dad, I need the car! I need to find Noah!”

He quickly handed her the keys. “I’ll stay here in case that bastard comes back. Be careful. If you see him, don’t hesitate to run the bitch over. Do you understand me?”

As she sprinted back to the car and pulled away from the curb, flicking on the windshield wipers against the first drops of the thunderstorm rolling above, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father was actually serious.


	4. We're Never Alone

It took _three-and-a-half_ hours.

She drove around for three-and-a-half _hours_ —from four in the afternoon to seven-thirty in the evening—looking for this boy. She drove around in a _torrential_ _downpour_ , nearly getting into _five_ _accidents_ , because she had to call up every gleek, Cheerio, and football player to try and TRACK DOWN THIS BOY BECAUSE SHE COULD NOT, FOR THE LIFE OF HER, FIND HIM.

He’d walked away not ten minutes before she got into the car and drove off in search of him, but it was like he’d teleported or suddenly developed super-speed or flew away. It was _absurd_! She was on the verge of just parking on the side of the road and breaking out the Hebrew prayer book Daddy kept in the glove compartment because she was so worried out of her mind.

She’d searched the water tower, the bleachers, the school, the park, the bridge, the stores, the mall, the park, the field, the—OH, MY GOD, she looked damn near _everywhere_. The only place she didn’t look…obviously was exactly where he was.

“NOAH!” she shrieked furiously, slamming the car door with enough force to violently shake the frame. She stomped through the thick sheet of rain just pouring down on her and glared— _glared_ _with_ _the_ _fury_ _of_ _a_ _thousand_ _supernovas_ —at the boy who was sitting _on_ _her_ _porch_. “What the _HELL_?!”

He barely lifted his head to look at her, and that half-assed action just yanked the fight out of her. She was ready to give a thundering tirade about him worrying his family and friends, letting them believe he’d gotten struck by lightning and was half-fried and lying in a ditch somewhere, but her words just seemed to flicker and die like a candle.

Wordlessly, she sloshed across her lawn and sat down on the step next to him, wearily disregarding the fact that they were less than a foot away from sheltered roof of the porch.

She didn’t ask him if he was all right because she knew he wasn’t. She didn’t ask how long he’d been there because that was a pointless question. She didn’t ask if he wanted to come inside because if he already refused to sit under the porch roof less than a foot away, then he probably would still be content sitting in the rain. She didn’t ask why he chose her house because he’d mostly likely shrug and avoid answering.

So she decided on:

“So it’s unseasonably warm right now, don’t you think?” she asked, spitting out the rain that had slipped into her mouth. “I mean, o-otherwise we’d be dying of hypothermia right now. This climate change phenomena is really getting scary, now that you think about it. It feels like March in January. In a couple of years, we _actually_ might be having Christmas in July. Or...in our case, Hanukkah... I wonder if the seasonal shift would also affect the structure of the months. I wouldn’t think so, but ever since people have tried to stop using ‘BC’ and ‘AD’ and the removal of the Ten Commandments from the Supreme Court, there are so many things that the world can change on a whim now. Names of months are such trivial matters that I doubt many would dispute it.”

He sighed, and she took it as progress.

“Theories suggest that—”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me to get outta the rain because your vocal chords are gonna shrivel up?” he interrupted.

“All things considered, I’m actually more concerned about pneumonia,” she replied flatly. “Or, you know, the sudden explosion of Old Faithful, revealing to the world the super volcano that it really is...”

He snorted and she nearly got a crick in the neck when she turned to look at him. He wasn’t grinning or chuckling. But the little, itty-bitty smile was touching the corners of his mouth, and she almost felt as proud as she would’ve been if Barbra herself had just given her a standing ovation.

That...was not good.

 _At_ _all_.

“Ma and Bekah okay?” he asked quietly, wiping his hand down his face.

“Last time I checked in, they were fine—although once Daddy arrived, they complained that he was suffocating them with his concern, but they were fine nonetheless,” she answered. “They were mainly worried about you.”

He sighed and leaned back onto his elbows. It honestly wouldn’t take years of training to tell that in spite of his seemingly relaxed position on her porch steps, his shoulders were tense, his fingers often twitched, his breathing was slow and even but shallow, and his jaw probably hadn’t unclenched for the last four hours or so.

And it worried her just a little bit more that instead of simply noticing those things, she wanted to be the one to fix them.

So instead of reaching out to comfort him—hold his hand, grip his shoulder reassuringly, or even rub his arm—she pulled the emergency poncho around herself a little tighter and turned back to facing her lawn and the street.

 _Finn_ , she reminded herself adamantly. _I am still with Finn_.

Damn to hell this gravitation pull, ironic attraction to bad-boy images, and their alleged natural Jewish attraction to each other. Those were such…“ _galactically stupid”_ notions—to quote _A Few Good Men_.

“I came to your house ‘cause I knew that rat-bastard wouldn’t think of coming here,” he explained suddenly. “He hated your dads mostly ‘cause they’re gay.”

It stung. It always stung. No matter how many times they heard it, people’s rejection of her family _stung._ She would always hold her head up high and proudly defend them, but that didn’t make her invulnerable to pain. “I always thought Eli was a good man who just got…lost in a bottle.”

Puck scoffed and shook his head. “He was a son of a bitch, drunk or not.”

Rachel glanced up at the dark, wet sky. “You won’t be like him, Noah…if that’s what you’re worried about.

He suddenly lurched forward, shooting up off the steps. He was halfway across her lawn by the time she’d caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“Wait, where—”

“You’re not getting it!” he blurted out, spinning around and staring at her. Even with the streetlight, she could only barely see his expression through the darkness and the rain—and the expression wasn’t anger. It was fear. “I told you before!”

“W-what?! I—”

“Sophomore year—in your room, remember? When you were trying to convince me to do that god-awful song and we talked about our sucky impulse control?”

Dear God, this boy had the memory of an elephant. But she had one too.

“Yes, of course! You try to be cool a-and nice, but you end up finding yourself spraying another student with a fire extinguisher!”

“Exactly!” he cried. “That’s how it starts!”

“What are you saying?!”

He ran his hand down his Mohawk and raked it back up to rub his forehead. “I can’t control myself sometimes! I don’t leave the house with a goal to beat up a fucking minimum of five people—it just _happens_! And that’s how it starts! I’ve got _his_ fucking genes, and I’m gonna end up an abusive asshole and live up to the future everyone expects me to have.”

“But you’re not like that anymore! I haven’t seen you throw anyone into lockers all year so far, and I most certainly haven’t seen you beat anyone up!” she protested, reaching out to grab a fistful of his shirt as if that would hold him in place.

“Bullshit! I haven’t heard his voice in over a decade, but as soon as Ma opened the door and I heard him, I blink and all of a sudden, I feel my fist trying to carve a crater into his skull! Like, _what the hell_?! And it all just fucking comes out, and I can’t stop, and sometimes I don’t even _want_ to stop!”

And as he stood there, staring down at her as his chest heaved against her clenched fist, she couldn’t help making the comparison and realizing that there honestly wasn’t a comparison at all.

It wasn’t that she was trying to belittle Finn’s insecurities, but his problems just paled in comparison to Puck’s. And she realized that her reassurances had been focused on the wrong boy. Finn wanted a personal cheerleader, Puck just needed _someone_.

“And every time I fucking _think_ about it, I see his face and I hear him saying that he loves me but that he doesn’t want me! Like what the _fuck_?! Does that even make sense?! And everyone _knows_! Everyone in this goddamn town knows how much of a fuck-up he is and how fucked up I got in response to that, and now they’re all betting on how _much_ of a fuck-up I’m gonna end up being since it seems to be this sick, hereditary shit to fuck up in life! Like it’s my _destiny_!”

Finn worried about not succeeding in life—being a football star, a singer, an actor. Puck worried about living his father’s life.

“And I thought that maybe I could try and _redeem_ myself by being a good dad a-a-and helping raise Beth, but then I fucked _that_ up too by falling in love with her mom only to find out that I actually wasn’t in love but that it was some even _more_ fucked up psychological issue of wanting to be with the mother of my daughter or some other shit I accidentally saw on _Dr. Phil_! I can’t fucking get it right! I keep screwing up even when I’m trying to do something good! It just _fucking happens_!”

_What can you do when your good isn’t good enough and all that you touch tumbles down? My best intentions keep making a mess of things, I just wanna fix it somehow. But how many times will it take? How many times will it take for me to get it right?_

And then she cried. She cried as he kept yelling in her face because he was… He was _furious_. He was in a _rage_. His arms were flying around as he gestured like a madman, making huge dollops of rain smack against her poncho. But he was crying too. He was so furious, and he was so… _sad_.

And everyone was too caught up in their own selfish, asinine problems to see exactly how far off the rails one of their own had gotten.

She let him yell. She didn’t care about her neighbors, she didn’t care that they might both die of pneumonia, she didn’t—she didn’t give a _shit_.

She just let him yell.

And when he finally choked off in the middle of a sentence, she slammed against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him as tight as she could until he finally gave up and wound his own arms around her and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

**~oOo~**

It didn’t stop raining. Even after she pulled him into the house, shoved clothes into his arms, and pushed him into the guestroom shower as she took a shower of her own, the rain was still coming down in huge drops that pounded against her roof. She eventually called her fathers, and they told her that since it was still raining too hard, they would stay and fix Bekah and Aviva a nice, hot dinner, so she took a cue from them and fixed up a sandwich with as much meat as she could stomach feeding anyone. When he came downstairs, she pushed him into a seat at the dinner table, fetched the first aid kit, and started to nurse the cut above his eyebrow as he snarfed down the sandwich.

He swallowed the last bite at the same time she finally set down the band-aid.

“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered uncomfortably.

“You’ve done so much for me already,” she said quietly, gently pressing the band-aid down in place. “I think it’s high time that I started returning the favors, don’t you think?”

“Berry, you don’t owe me _shit_ ,” Puck grumbled, ducking his head.

She brushed her fingertips against the bruise on his cheekbone. “As a matter of fact, Noah, I _do_.”

“I said we weren’t even friends. Even if you don’t hate my guts, you shouldn’t give a shit about me.”

“I would think that after three years, you would know that I don’t like it when people try and dictate what I should and shouldn’t do or care about. If I choose to care you about you, then you’re just going to have t-to _suck it up_.”

“So does that mean you’re gonna marry Finn?”

She paused and met his eyes. And then she blinked.

**~oOo~**

“I can’t, Finn, I’m sorry.”

He stared down at the box in her hand, brows furrowed in confusion as if her saying “no” had been the furthest thing from his mind. They were in the choir room during the free period before glee. She’d debated with herself the entire Sunday after Noah left, and she vacillated between wanting to do this before or after rehearsals. But her need to answer his question outweighed her need for him to be a hundred percent during glee.

“Why?” he asked quietly, still staring at her hand. “I thought that…that you’d want this.”

“I-I-I _do_ ,” she said earnestly, taking his hand and setting the box in the middle of his palm, “or at least I _did_.”

He finally looked up at her face with a lost expression. “What changed?”

She owed him the truth, and she would give it. Just…not all of it.

“I realized that I can’t do it,” she answered. “I could say ‘yes’ and plan the whole wedding, but the moment the rabbi asks, I don’t think I can say that I do want to marry you. Not this young. We…still have our whole lives ahead of us, and getting married is a milestone that’s not even supposed to be on our radar yet. We’d end up skipping over so many different hurdles and missing out on life experiences. We’re too young, Finn. I can’t have a husband who’s still busy growing up.”

He suddenly brightened. “But we could still be engaged! We’ll just wait until we both have steady jobs and careers before we get married! That’s a good plan, right? I know people have used that strategy before, and it worked. I mean, we’ll get an apartment together and do, like, a _test drive_ of the married life, you know?”

It took her a solid four seconds to realize that she was staring up at him in mild horror, her mouth hanging open a little.

“W-Why are you so eager for this to happen?” she asked.

“Because I love you, Rachel. I-I _need_ you. You’re the one who makes me feel like…like I’m not _lost_ in the world,” he answered, gripping the box so tight his knuckles turned white. “Everything…is right when I’m with you.”

She’d loved this boy for three years. Three years, and all it took was three minutes to tear all that apart—three minutes of a litany about an entirely different boy.

“Finn, when you go the store and you ask for a half of a pie, the clerk will give you a legitimate half of a whole pie—not half of a quarter or a third, a _whole_ pie. If we stand on that altar, the rabbi will ask us—not in the exact terms—if we are complete enough to give half of ourselves away. Because when you love someone, you won’t give them a half-assed version of yourself—you owe it to them and to yourself. We can’t stand up there and give each other halves of our _whole_ _beings_ because we’re not even whole ourselves yet. Do you understand?”

He blinked at her. “No.”

“I need to be _whole_ to give half of myself away, Finn. And neither of us are whole. We can’t become a complete pie if we’re not complete halves.”

“Rach, you know I suck at math—especially fractions,” he said in a pained tone.

Oh, _dear God_.

“Finn, you need to grow up,” she said bluntly. “We’re in _high school._ I haven’t even been accepted to NYADA yet, and you don’t even know what you want to do with your life. You wanted to be a soldier, but then you disparaged the entire organization by calling your father a loser and—”

“Wait, _what_?”

Oh, no. That slipped out?

“I-I-I-I mean—”

No. _No._ No, no, no, no, no. She was _not_ going to take that back. If this boy wanted to be with her, he needed to be able to handle an argument. _Especially_ this one.

“Actually, yes,” she said firmly, lifting her chin defiantly. “I think it is incredibly disrespectful of you to call your father a loser.”

“What?!” he demanded incredulously, narrowing his eyes at her. “He left us! He was a druggie!”

“He was a victim of post-traumatic stress disorder, Finn!” she cried. “He was _sick_! He left to spare you and your mother from seeing him get worse! And I don’t condone the fact that he didn’t seek help, but for all we know, he might have _tried_ , but the treatments didn’t work! You have no _right_ to insult that man!”

He gawked at her outburst but quickly shot back, “You don’t know what it’s like to—”

But she cut him off as soon as she heard the first six words. “No, I may not know what it’s like, Finn, but the only person who can legitimately call his father a loser is Noah because th-that _horrible_ excuse of a man never fought in a war. He was just a self-centered _jerk_ who threw away a good life for a cheap drink and a fantasy! Your father went to war to fight for something, and he came back with a sickness that couldn’t be healed! He left to protect you and your mother from watching him waste away into a shell of the man he used to be, and you have the _gall_ to call him a loser. Dying of a drug overdose isn’t an honorable death, but when you take into account all of his previous actions—when you take into account the man he was before—you have no right to call him that!”

“It’s just the same!”

“No, it’s not! You have a mother who loves you and supported you through the years, and now you have a loving stepfather and an _amazing_ stepbrother and a team who loves you and would stand by you—and you _dare_ to say you have nothing ‘special’ in your life?! Where have you been?!”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re talented, you have these two amazing dads, and you actually have a _future_!”

“And once again, _you are belittling the people who love you_! When are you ever going to think you have enough?!” she cried in frustration. “You’ve lived an easy life, Finn! You’ve had your share of issues, but I don’t think you’ve ever sat back and thanked God for what you actually have! You don’t have a little sister you had to help raise as if she was your own daughter! You’ve never had to deal with _real_ abandonment, _real_ rejection! You—”

“Why do you keep comparing me to Puck?! What is it about this guy that keeps reeling you back in like a hooked fish?! He slushied you for a year and a half, called you a drag for three years after that, and _still_ rolls his eyes when you start going off about Broadway!”

“He _apologized_ , whereas _you_ never did even when you openly admitted to egging my house!” Rachel finally thundered. “He calls me a drag, but he calls everyone names, so I hardly think I’d be the exception and he at least keeps the severity of his insults to a bare minimum! _You_ were _dating me_ when you agreed with Santana that I dress like _rapist bait_! And he may roll his eyes, but then he asks the occasional question that tells me he’s _paying_ _attention_ whereas you just completely zone out and I could start talking a-about Furby and Flubber’s love child, and you _still_ wouldn’t hear a word I say!”

“He’s an _asshole_! Stop making him out to be this secretly-awesome guy, Rachel!” Finn shot back. “He cheated with two of my girlfriends and—”

“You can’t talk either!” she retorted. “You cheated on Quinn with me and then you _stole her_ back from Sam only to dump her!”

“For _you_!”

“Like that’s supposed to make me _feel better_?!” she shrieked. “Like that’s a valid reason for _breaking a girl’s heart_?!”

“At least I told her the truth—I didn’t lead her on or use her!”

“Like you used me as your ticket to a scholarship during sophomore year?!”

He threw up his hands and walked around the choir room before facing her again, his face red and his eyes narrowed in anger. “So what now?! Are you gonna go back to Puck?! He’ll only cheat on you with some Cheerio or a cougar and then he’ll break your heart! He’s a _loser_ , Rachel! He’s a juvenile delinquent who only cares about his Mohawk and his badass image! He’s just gonna end up like his—”

She blamed it on the fact that she tended to get tunnel vision when she was angry. She could only see Finn standing in front of her through a red haze of pure _rage_ —that’s why she didn’t see the fist that suddenly appeared and smashed right into her _ex_ -boyfriend’s face.

The six-foot teen was sent flying back into the chairs on the risers.

“GOD, I’ve been _dying_ to do that!” Blaine said triumphantly, wringing his hand and grinning breathlessly.

Rachel turned to see Kurt, Santana, Brittany, Sam, Mike, Tina, and Mr. Schue standing near the doorway with mixed expressions of pride, smugness, shock, horror, and… _glee_.

“Does this count as phase three even though we haven’t even started it?” Brittany asked, out of the blue.

“Nah, Brit-Brit. Consider this the cosmos taking over and announcing ‘mission accomplished,’” Santana answered with a smile.

“Can we eat the marshmallows and kisses then?”


	5. We're Accidentally In Love

Rachel stared at it. She knew she was wasting the cold air and that things would start melting, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to shut the door. It was an unassuming carton, but it was like there was a bright spotlight shining down on it—she just couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Leroy Berry hated ice cream because of its sugar content. Hiram Berry couldn’t eat ice cream because of his lactose intolerance. Rachel Berry stayed far away from ice cream because of her veganism and the fact that it was bad for her vocal cords. And if those weren’t valid enough reasons, the collective favorite flavor of the Berry household was _chocolate_ , anyway.

So why in the world was there a carton of strawberry ice cream taking center-stage on the top shelf of the freezer?

She knew why. It was because of a snowball fight.

It had been two weeks since Elijah Puckerman’s return to Lima, and until that day, Puck seemed to have gotten over his father’s unexpected and unwelcome arrival. Until that particular day, of course.

He’d been slouching around school, glaring at anyone who even _thought_ about talking to him. Rachel had been unceremoniously brushed off when she walked up and asked him what was wrong—which was about eight times better than what happened to Mike and Sam, who’d attempted the same thing and ended up trapped in the janitor’s closet.

Fed up and worried out of her mind (again), Rachel finally resulted to a childish means of harassing people. Once school let out for the day, she hid behind a bush near Puck’s truck, readied ten perfectly spherical snowballs, and waited until he was unlocking the door when she popped up out of the bushes and pelted a snowball straight at his back. Unfortunately, she wasn’t known for her aim, so the snowball actually smashed into the back of his head.

He’d turned around with a murderous glare, spotted the guilty, open-mouthed expression on her face, turned back, and yanked open the door. He’d just... _ignored_ _her_. Instead of remaining shocked and giving up on her endeavor, she felt anger burning through her muscles.

Rachel Berry does not like to be ignored.

Picking up another snowball, she managed to hit him right on the shoulder.

He turned, threw another glare her way, and was about to finally get into the truck when a third snowball smacked him right in the face. He wiped the slush off his face and slammed his door shut, glaring at her the whole time. She felt a flicker of uncertainty, and involuntarily took a step back.

 _Perhaps_ provoking the temperamental halfback who was already having a bad day wasn’t one of her best ideas. But her eyes widened when he reached into the bed of his truck, scooped out a handful of accumulated snow, and started wadding it up into a ball. She immediately ducked to grab two of her own snowballs, but he caught her right in the shoulder, splattering her face with the cold, wet snow. She stumbled and tried to wipe it out of her eyes, but suddenly, something warm, hard, and heavy hurtled into her side, tackling her into the snowdrift and pinned her down into the slush.

She grinned at his mock-angry look and mashed the fourth snowball he hadn’t seen her grab into the back of his neck, making him shiver. She laughed as he growled at her and tried cover her up with snow, but they ended up tumbling into her little patch of leftover snowballs. Instead of feeling thoroughly frozen and wet, the close proximity of his body meant an abundance of warmth that flushed her cheeks. She grinned up at him, and his darkened hazel eyes brightened as a smirk spread across his face.

“Come on, midget,” he’d said, pulling her up with him.

“Where are we going?” she’d asked, using the hand he hadn’t been holding to smooth out her coat and hair.

“I want ice cream.”

“Noah! It’s freezing! We’ve just been rolling around in the snow and you want ice cream?!”

He’d shrugged. “Yeah.”

So she hopped into his truck, and they drove off to the grocery store to buy a carton of ice cream and to rent the first three _Star_ _Wars_ movies. They ended up back at her house where he forced her to sit through _A_ _New_ _Hope_ and _The_ _Empire_ _Strikes_ _Back_ before finally telling her that Elijah Puckerman had called the house the night before and Aviva was now in the process of putting out a restraining order on the man.

So that’s why there was a carton of ice cream in her freezer. It wasn’t the same one he’d bought and brought over that day. Actually, she’d lost count of how many cartons he’d brought over. He’d visited her house more frequently, finishing and replenishing his stash and occasionally bringing her a little carton of chocolate vegan ice cream—which was also seated beside his currently half-filled carton.

This was how Santana found her—staring at the cartons of ice cream in her freezer like an idiot. After proudly announcing her instrumental role in the end of the “Feast of the T-Rex,” she subsequently insinuated herself into Rachel’s life to ensure that her little gremlin wouldn’t revert back to the “ _Anno_ _Fincheli_ ” personality that drove everyone insane. She became a frequent presence in the Berry household, having long-since foregone typical social boundaries and called dibs on the hidden key under the ceramic frog near the azalea bush.

She hip-bumped the freezer door shut, snapping Rachel out of her stupor.

“So what’s the problem, Berry?” Santana asked, pouring herself a mug of coffee and hopping up onto the barstool.

Rachel had reconciled herself with the Latina’s incessant meddling ever since she found out about Brittana’s plan to push Finchel to its ultimate end. The result was an unlikely alliance that culminated in more duets between herself and Santana and Finn’s ever-diminishing presence in musical numbers. Rachel had also come to grips with the severe lack of propriety when it came to Santana. She knew more about Brittany and Santana’s relationship that she ever needed to know—almost to the point where she hardly even cared about what she heard and became extremely comfortable with the two girls.

Comfortable enough, in fact, to answer Santana’s question with much more candid frankness than she ever thought she’d speak to anyone with:

 _“What’s the problem?”_ Rachel echoed with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. Well, maybe I’m in love.”

“Love?!” Santana shrieked, nearly upending her coffee mug.

“I can’t stop thinking about it!” Rachel cried, wringing her hands. “I keep staring a-at that carton and wondering when he’s going to come and finish it and if he’s going to force me to finish the _Star_ _Wars_ films and wondering if he can tell that I like him o-or if he already knows but simply doesn’t want me back—”

 _“¿Estás bromeando?”_ Santana demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are you kidding? It’s only been two damn weeks, Berry, and you’re walking around declaring that you fucking love him?”

“Truthfully I don’t know much about love since I thought I was in love with Finn. And Lord knows that Finn will always have a special place in my heart—even if it may or may not be barely a hair’s breadth in length and width—but further introspection—and a few _offhand_ comments from Dad—led me to the conclusion that I’d fallen prey to the same malady that befell countless other teens before me: infatuation. I fell in love with a candy-coated image of a boy I was infatuated with. As far as this newly-reborn Rachel Berry is concerned, I haven’t experienced true, heart-clenching love—a-a love that could be the stuff of legends.”

Santana glared at her. “So why the hell are you saying you’re in love with Puckerman? Holy Christ.”

Rachel grimaced and ran her hands through her hair. “Because...because...”

“Because, because, because _WHAT_ , gnome?!”

Because more than anything in the world, she wanted Noah to feel loved—that anyone he let into his life wouldn’t break his heart. She didn’t want to fix him like she did with Finn. She didn’t want to be his hero. She didn’t want theatrics. She just wanted Noah to know that aside from his mom and sister, she would be there for him. And if that meant nothing more than being his friend because she was leaving for Tisch and he was going off to God-knows-where and he didn’t want to be in a relationship, then so be it.

So she took a deep, steadying breath and walked out of the kitchen.

“Gremlin! What the hell?!” Santana screeched.

But she ignored Santana and walked up the stairs to her room. And if Santana followed her up and sat on her bed the entire time, throwing questions, comments, and mild insults at her, Rachel ignored it. She had a song to rehearse.

**~oOo~**

Rachel raised her hand and half the gleeks heaved a collective sigh which was consequently shushed the other half. “Mr. Schue?”

Ever since Finn’s downfall, Schue had grown up a considerable amount. Needless to say, he asked Finn to step down as best man and had called up one Bryan Ryan as a replacement. The guy was a second-rate douchebag, but he was definitely known for his parties. Schue’s enlightenment also caused him to take a much softer stand with Rachel and didn’t even display a modicum of exasperation when he smiled at her. “Yes, Rachel?”

“I’ve completed your—” ludicrous, unoriginal, and utterly uninspired “—assignment. May I ask to be the first to perform?”

“Of course!” Schue said, grinning and stepping aside.

Instead of standing in the middle of the room though, Rachel shooed Brad off the piano stool and took his place.

The assignment was simple enough. It was essentially junior year’s mash-up assignment only in solos. Girls would sing songs by men, and the boys would sing songs by women. But Rachel took it a step further and edited the lyrics to fit accordingly. She didn’t want any other accompaniment—she and Santana had agreed that a voice and a piano would be more than enough.

So when she plucked out the first few chords, the rest of the gleeks didn’t recognize it—only Santana, Brittany (who was clued in by her girlfriend), and _Blaine_ of all people, according to their knowing little smiles. As soon as she started singing, though, Rachel fixed her eyes on her fingers as they moved across the keys.

 _“Little boy who grew up too fast, he had some trouble with himself. He was always there to help her; she always belonged to someone else,”_ she sang softly, making sure to keep her voice low and deep. _“He walked for miles and miles and wound up at my door. I've had you so many times, but somehow, I want more.”_

“Oh, my God,” she heard Kurt breath, but she didn’t dare look away.

_“I don't mind spending every day, out on my front porch in the pouring rain. Look for the boy with the broken smile, ask him if he wants to stay awhile, and he will be loved. He will be loved.”_

She once said that she cried every time she sang a solo, but she steadfastly refused to cry during this one. Because this song wasn’t about her, and she felt that her tears would only detract from the message she was trying to send him.

_“Tap on my window, knock on my door, I want to make you feel wonderful. I know I tend to get so insecure, it doesn't matter anymore. It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that moves us along, yeah. My heart is full and my door's always open, you come anytime you want. I don't mind spending every day out on my front step in the pouring rain. Look for the boy with the broken smile. Ask him if he wants to stay awhile, and he will be loved. And he will be loved. And he will be loved. And he will be loved.”_

Finn walked out. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. She was thankful he didn’t make another spectacle of himself and... _kick_ _a_ _chair_ or something.

 _“I know where you hide, alone in your car. Know all of the things that make you who you are. I know that goodbye means nothing at all. Come to me and I'll catch you every time you fall,”_ she sang, tapering off the notes into silence. _“Tap on my window knock on my door, I want to make you feel wonderful.”_

And then Santana and Brittany came in, harmonizing with her from where they sat on the risers. _“I don't mind spending every day, standing with you in the pouring rain. I’ll try to fix that broken smile, pull you in and let you stay awhile, and you will be loved. And you will be loved. And you will be loved. And you will be loved.”_

 No high notes, no tears. She stood up as the gleeks applauded, and then she _finally_ locked eyes with him.

But it was only for a second because as soon as their gazes met, he was up and out of his seat. And for a second there, she wanted to crumple and cry because she thought he was walking out on her much like the way Finn did. But instead, he’d grabbed her hand and _dragged_ her out into the empty hallway.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low.

She swallowed and blinked up at him. “I thought that was fairly obvious, Noah, I—”

“You sang me a song,” he said flatly.

“You hate it, don’t you? I knew it. The song was lame. I suck,” she sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat. “I’m a one-hit wonder. I can’t even successfully—”

“Why?” he asked, hazel eyes glinting.

She shrugged. “The song fit you. Once I modified the lyrics, of course.”

 _“Why?”_ he hissed again.

She stared up at him. He didn’t look angry—just confused.

“I thought it would be fairly obvious considering your ice cream is in my freezer.”

He froze and balked at her. “Did you just make a dirty joke?!”

Her eyes widened. “What?! No! That was—that was _literal_! Your ice cream is _actually_ in my freezer!”

“And that caused you to sing me a song?!” he demanded.

 _Ugh_ , this was not going the way she’s planned.

“Look, Noah, I sang it for you,” she explained, “and for what you’ve been going through. And I’ll admit that I have—” a _lot_ “—of feelings for you, but that wasn’t the primary reason for me to sing. The song is supposed to be about comfort, and I wanted you to know that I’ll be here for you if ever you need it.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You...have feelings for me?”

She swallowed and suddenly found the dirty smudges on the floor utterly _riveting_.

“Berry, don’t you think it’s a little bit fucked up that I slept with your mom?” he asked, ducking down to try and catch her gaze.

She flinched but wasn’t too fazed by it. A few days after his outburst in the rain, he’d backtracked, only then realizing that he’d spilled his own secret, but she told him that Quinn had told her before, so he hadn’t given her a heart attack or anything. “I’ll admit that it’s gross on _so_ many different levels, but the fact of the matter is that she’s as much my mother as Mr. Schue is Finn’s father.”

Puck just stared down at her in disbelief. Chick done lost her damn mind for this. She took _batshit_ _crazy_ to a whole new, inhuman level.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I still want you. And even if you don’t want me back, I need you to know that you’re not alone, Noah. That a _lot_ of us care about you more than you want to acknowledge,” she said earnestly, reaching up to cup his face the same way she’d done a week ago. “It’s not just you against the world anymore. And even if I go to Broadway, and you drop off the map, I will always be here.”

“What?” he muttered. “Waiting for my ass to say that I want you back?”

She smiled and shook her head. “If ever you just want to talk.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to sing a _song_ , though, Berry.”

She smiled. “Well, it just so happened that you serenaded me in glee once before. I thought it was high time for me to return the favor.”

“What is up with you and trying to pay me back for shit all of a sudden?” he asked suspiciously.

She shrugged. _I may or may not have accidentally fallen in love with you._ “I-I-I-I don’t know. Di-Did you like it?”

He smirked and reached out for her hand, twining his long, calloused fingers between hers. “You were a little flat on the second verse, but it was a’ight.”

She used her free hand to smack his chest with the back of her hand and grinned. “Noah!”

He chuckled and let go of her hand to sling it around her shoulder. “So...you still got my ice cream in your freezer?”

 _“Noah!”_ she cried indignantly.

He grinned, bent down, and dropped a soft kiss on her lips, making her . “So I will be loved, huh?”

She grinned up at him and wrapped an arm around his waist as he led her out of the school. “Yeah, yeah, you will be.”

He smirked down at her and squeezed her closer against his side. “You’ll be loved too, you know? The _right_ way.”

She nodded. “I’m counting on it.”


End file.
